


Merry Effing Christmas

by CinnamonLily



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Dating, Fluff and Angst, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Romantic Gestures, Tech Guy Stiles, basically just holiday fluff with some angst thrown in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 14:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13079076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonLily/pseuds/CinnamonLily
Summary: Stiles has a job he really likes, he's been dating Peter for six months, and if his workplace and paycheck were anything like they should be, he'd be just fine. Then the holidays arrive and surprise him in more ways than one.





	Merry Effing Christmas

Stiles looked at the balance of his bank account and bit his lip. _Fuck._ He hadn’t even gotten his dad anything for Christmas, let alone Peter. But hey, at least he had paid for electricity and heat and rent, right? And his cell and internet and some other mandatory shit.

He got up, realizing he was going to be late from the date night at Peter’s. As he showered quickly and dressed into something comfortable but smart-ish, he wondered how long Peter would tolerate him.

They’d met half the country away from a town they both were originally from, almost six months ago. It was weird, really, but Stiles wouldn’t dream of complaining.

Peter was… everything Stiles wasn’t?

He was older, a lawyer, independently wealthy, owned a nice house half an hour from where Stiles rented his shithole. Stiles… well, Stiles was fifteen years younger, had a sort-of-promising job as a tech guy for an advertisement agency. If only it had paid a bit better, or if the employees had been more competent and his boss less of an asshole.

More than once, Stiles had come home from work, or gone to Peter’s, and all but collapsed on a couch and fought tears. He loved his job, he did. It was the _workplace_ that sucked, but it was all he had for now.

In any case, Stiles counted his blessings every time he saw the gorgeous bastard he could call his… well, not _boyfriend_ —because just no—but something on those lines.

He was in his car, almost at Peter’s, when his phone rang. His boss, Harris. Groaning, Stiles accepted the call. Hands free, of course. Sheriff’s son and all.

“Stilinski, it’s your lucky day,” Harris said, and Stiles could see the sneer from across the fucking city.

“It is?”

“You got the promotion you wanted.”

For a few seconds, Stiles was sure it was a joke. He’d wanted to lead his own team of tech guys for a while, but he was too new, too young, too _something_ for Harris’s bosses.

“Oh?”

“Yes. It’s in the sister location though, not here. You’ll have a bit of a commute, but your new paycheck should just about cover it. I have to go. You start next week.” Click.

Stiles drove the last few blocks to Peter’s house, parked in the driveway, and turned the car off.

What the fuck was his life? How in the hell did the universe think it was okay to give him something and then all but take it away?

He felt the panic attack coming, approaching like fucking storm front.

How could he even _afford_ the gas? The raise wouldn’t be enough, no way, not in the long run. Not with his piece of shit car. His thirty minutes to work now was enough, and it would be stretched to well over an hour with the new one.

Gasping for breath, he broke down.

He would have to fill his tank more often, he would—

And then something cut through his panic like a knife.

 _Wait a minute._ When exactly was the last time he’d put gas into his car?

He looked at the fuel gauge and blinked. Wait. He’d expected it to be near empty, but it was, in fact, almost full? What the…?

He glanced at the house, and Peter standing in the doorway, looking worried.

Peter had borrowed the car couple of days ago to go get their pizzas from Stiles’s favorite place that didn’t have a delivery service. Before that, it had been some other excuse to use his car instead of his own Lexus that was probably in the nice, spacious garage attached to the house right then, too.

_Peter had been putting gas in his car for weeks, if not months._

He hadn’t asked, because Stiles would’ve said no. He didn’t take Peter’s money, he wanted to get by on his own, little as it was. Until now, Peter had paid for restaurants, but always let Stiles pay for pizza or take out. He went out of his way not to make Stiles uncomfortable with the difference in their financial situations.

He’d used his sneakiness to help Stiles out in a way he wouldn’t notice, because he only put gas in his car when the warning light came on and he absolutely had to.

Stiles couldn’t help it. He started to cry.

He dropped his head, forehead on the steering wheel, and wept.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Peter asked, and he must’ve opened the driver’s side door because suddenly Stiles was being held by him.

“I don’t fucking deserve you,” Stiles managed to whine through the tears.

“Yes you do,” Peter argued in his lawyer tone that brook no argument. “Come on. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

Stiles got out of the car and walked under Peter’s arm into the warm, welcoming house.

“Let’s eat first, okay? Talk after.”

 

Later that evening, when Stiles explained the whole new situation to him, Peter looked at him like he was being stupid. Not in the normal, fond way, but like he was actually being obtuse.

“What?”

“So I was going to give this to you for Christmas, but….” Peter got up and went to fetch what turned out to be a small box. He placed it on Stiles’s palm. “Open it.”

It wasn’t a ring box, thank deity. That was way too soon and unlikely, too.

But it was a shiny new key to the house.

Stiles’s eyes widened and he looked from the key to Peter. “W-what?”

“I was going to ask you to move in. I know the commute wasn’t ideal and you would’ve been ten minutes from the job you have now. It’s what, forty-five to the new one from here?”

Stiles hiccupped a sob. “Less.” Then, “Less than that, actually.”

It hadn’t even crossed his mind to move in with Peter.

“B-but….”

“No buts,” Peter insisted. He took Stiles’s hands into his and looked at him seriously. “Haven’t you figured it out already?”

“What?”

“That I’m head over heels in love with you, Stiles.”

“Well merry fucking Christmas to me,” Stiles blurted out.

Peter looked at him for a second, then burst out into laughter that warmed Stiles from the inside out.

He climbed onto Peter’s lap, straddled him, and dove in for a kiss. Who even needed mistletoe, eh?

 

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a random "non-romantic romantic gestures" thing I saw online. And because of holidays. Because why the hell not?


End file.
